


Feast of the Unwise Men

by drayton



Category: Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drayton/pseuds/drayton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dunworthy retrieves Kivrin on Epiphany, the Feast of the Wise Men.  His success should mean that his problems are over, but this is academia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feast of the Unwise Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_M](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_M/gifts).



_We made it,_ Dunworthy thought, as he shuffled wearily into the net. Kivrin was safe, Colin was safe, and he was going back to bed for a week, or possibly all of Hilary. His relief was cut short by the realization that several people were waiting in the lab, all of them wearing imperm suits. William's nurse was still there, but other medical personnel with trolleys had arrived, and that short man on the left, was that...?

“Tangleton? What are you doing here?”

“As instructed by the University, I've come to see that you're properly isolated.” Even with his voice muffled by a respirator, Tangleton managed to sound self-important.

“Isolated? From what? What's happened?” Dunworthy said, impatiently shrugging away from a medic intent on treating him.

“There is some thought that serious diseases which are treatable in our era might be able to come through from the past.”

“ _What?_ ” Dunworthy's protest was interrupted by an ill-timed bout of coughing. The tearing pain in his chest was definitely growing worse. He let the medic put a skin-temp on his forehead before getting enough breath to say, “That's nonsense, and you know it.”

Tangleton's tone became even more officious. “The University has its concerns. A brief period of quarantine would seem to be a reasonable precaution.”

Dunworthy was about to question the nature and validity of the University's concerns when a thought occurred to him. “All three of us?”

“Yes,” Dr. Gates said, as he came over to take a look at Dunworthy. “Your fever's back. I was afraid of that.”

“We'd be quarantined together?” Dunworthy asked quietly.

Gates smiled. “In the same corridor, certainly.” He added in a near-whisper, “And no nurses to keep the young man from visiting you, unless you wish it. I'll see to it.”

Colin was healthy. Even Kivrin might be treated and released from hospital today, but Dunworthy knew he was having a relapse. If he wanted to keep an eye on them, he would have to agree to this ridiculous quarantine.

“Very well,” Dunworthy said, and submitted to the indignity of being loaded onto a trolley and taken away.

 

He'd hoped their quarantine-within-a-quarantine would fend off unwelcome visitors. It had been enough to hold Mrs. Gaddson at bay, but Tangleton turned up the next day.

“Dunworthy, it's vitally... oh,” Tangleton said, as he realized they were not alone.

“Kivrin and Colin have been keeping me company,” Dunworthy said. In truth, Colin had been trying to persuade Kivrin to teach him, while Dunworthy drifted in and out of sleep, contributing little to the conversation.

“I need to speak to Miss Engle, as well. We should have taken care of this before now, but they wouldn't let me in and said you aren't taking calls. The hospital staff have no respect for the University's priorities.”

“I was under the impression that a quarantine was one of the University's priorities,” Dunworthy said crisply. “Why do you need to speak to Miss Engle?”

“We require a full account of what happened during her practicum.”

“We?”

“The Research Committee and various University officials,” Tangleton said. “There are legal ramifications...”

“I went to a village. The Black Death came. Everyone died. The end,” Kivrin said tonelessly.

Dunworthy looked at her in surprise, as Kivrin hadn't been so taciturn with him. “Miss Engle had a device implanted in her wrist to record her impressions. They will be retrieved and analyzed in due course.”

“But it's urgent...”

“Why is it urgent?” Kivrin asked. “My wrist isn't going anywhere, and neither are the dead.”

“With Gilchrist dead and Latimer unreachable, the University has limited options for determining what happened and what the media should be told. There have been unsubstantiated rumors that Miss Engle's drop went awry.”

“It did,” said Kivrin. “I went to 1348, not 1320. Hence the Black Death.”

Tangleton hesitated, then said, “Yes, well, that hasn't been officially established yet, and the University's not sure it would be in anyone's best interest for the public to know. Developing a coordinated response is essential.”

“Anyone's interest?” Dunworthy said, and then did a quick mental tally of who'd known about Kivrin's drop. Gilchrist was dead, Mary Ahrens was dead, Latimer was unresponsive, Badri's mistake had sent Kivrin to 1348, and the influenza epidemic had come directly from Montoya's dig. Which left only Colin, a child, Kivrin, a student who might be accused of being too inexperienced to know where she'd been, and Finch, whose primary concern in life was Baillol's supply of lavatory paper. And himself, of course: a man who'd been too ill to ride a horse without assistance by the end of the retrieval.

Had William Gaddson or any of his nurses known which year Kivrin was being retrieved from? What about the medics who'd been in the lab—had a year been mentioned? Yes, the University was looking for a rug large enough to sweep this mess under, but Dunworthy had no interest in sparing it any embarrassment. “Montoya,” he said. “Either she failed to take the proper precautions when opening the tomb, or someone signed a waiver. Which was it?”

Tangleton squirmed. “A review of relevant documents indicates that Mr. Basingame signed a waiver the day before he left. We have not yet located him.”

Which meant that either Basingame had been so eager to get away that he hadn't read what he was signing, or Montoya had forged his signature more than once. Dunworthy closed his eyes for a moment while wrestling with his temper. He opened them and said, “We have only just returned from an abattoir. The University's desire to apportion blame and downplay a disaster does not concern me at all.”

“Hardly surprising, as I've been told it's your fault,” Tangleton said.

 _Told?  By whom?_  Dunworthy wondered. _Although it was my fault. If I hadn't agreed to tutor Kivrin... if I hadn't persuaded Badri to check the coordinates..._

“Nonsense,” Kivrin said. “Mr. Dunworthy agreed to tutor me, but he was adamantly opposed to sending me on a drop so soon. If Basingame had been reachable during the holiday, the drop would have been postponed, if not canceled altogether. If he'd refused to sign the waiver, Montoya would have been forced to take proper precautions when opening the tomb, and there likely would have been no epidemic. In both situations, Badri would have not been ill enough to make a mistake with the coordinates, so I would have gone to 1320 instead of 1348.”

“How can you be sure it was 1348?” Tangleton said. “Did you see a calendar? Historians have made mistakes before.”

Kivrin rolled her eyes. “Contemps told me it was 1348, and a village full of dead people is a strong indication they were right.”

“It could have been influenza. Or smallpox,” Tangleton suggested.

“There were buboes,” Kivrin said. “I tended the ill. I helped bury them. It was plague. The symptoms were unmistakable, and the mortality rate was _not_ an overestimate. Everyone in Ashencote died, except for Maisry, who ran away.”

“Everyone in the other village was dead, too,” Colin said, “only most of them hadn't been buried.”

Tangleton turned to Dunworthy, looking peevish as he said, “Perhaps you can explain how a _child_ ended up in the fourteenth century? The University is none too pleased about that.”

“Mr. Dunworthy wasn't pleased about it, either,” Colin put in, before Dunworthy could speak. “I jumped into the net at the last minute, and Mr. Dunworthy shouted for Badri to re-open it, but that didn't happen.”

A nurse bustled in and gave Dunworthy an affronted look. “Dr. Gates left strict orders that you only receive two visitors at a time.”

“Mr. Tangleton was just leaving,” Dunworthy told the nurse, before returning his attention to Tangleton. “Several unfortunate mistakes have been made in the past few weeks. While I have no particular desire to publicize them, I will not deny or conceal them. I would advise the University not to try, as the truth will inevitably come out. Deceiving the media now will only do further harm to the University's reputation.”

Tangleton nodded stiffly. “I will convey your sentiments, as well as your lack of cooperation. This is not over.”

After Tangleton and the nurse left, Dunworthy turned to Kivrin and said, “Keep the corder. I'll have a tech I trust download the information. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Kivrin said, but the color had left her face. “I wasn't expecting that. That the University would deny it even happened, I mean.”

“Denial is always the first stage of a bureaucratic response, quickly followed by self-righteous indignation and a search for scapegoats. That's usually accompanied by attempts to redefine the situation in terms designed to shield authority figures from blame and hasty remedies that cause inconvenience without addressing the underlying issue.”

“Such as an unnecessary quarantine,” Kivrin said.

“Yes,” Dunworthy said. “If we're lucky, there will eventually be a late-arriving but rational response to the problem. Imagine a Gilbert and Sullivan opera with extra absurdity but less humor, and you'll have the gist of it.”

“Who was that?” Colin said.

Dunworthy sighed and said, “He's one of the University's pet henchmen. His priorities are appearances first, truth last, and the University above all.”

Colin gave him a worried look. “Can he hurt you? Or Kivrin?”`

“Can Mrs. Gaddson hurt you?” Dunworthy asked.

“No,” Colin said, “but she's horrible to be around.”

“Tangleton is my Mrs. Gaddson.”

“Doesn't that mean you have two Mrs. Gaddsons?” Colin said.

“At the moment, we have zero Mrs. Gaddsons, which is the most desirable number. Let us rejoice in our good fortune while it lasts.”

“We should let you rest,” Kivrin said abruptly, while giving Colin a look Dunworthy couldn't decipher.

“It's not necessary.”

“No, truly. We can chat elsewhere and let you get a few hours' worth of uninterrupted sleep. We don't know when someone else will turn up, so you should rest while you can.” Kivrin left, taking a slightly perplexed Colin with her.

 _What was that about?_ Dunworthy wondered as he drifted off again.

 

The next time he woke, it was dark outside and a nurse was bringing him a tray of food. A brisk, middle-aged woman came in just as the nurse was leaving.

“I'm Dr. Neruda,” she said. “I've been counseling Miss Engle and Colin. I see from your records that you last received counseling after a drop in 2042. You're familiar with the process: anything you say will remain strictly confidential. Balliol and the University will only be told whether or not I feel additional counseling is necessary before you can be cleared for further time travel.”

“Yes.”

“Let's begin with the day of Kivrin's drop. I understand you objected to it?”

“Yes,” Dunworthy said, and recounted Gilchrist's determination to send someone to the Middle Ages, Basingame's convenient absence, and everything that had followed: Badri's collapse, the bell ringers, Colin's unexpected arrival, Mrs. Gaddson, Mary's death, the horrifying realization that Kivrin had gone to 1348, and the retrieval itself.

“You seem very concerned about Miss Engle.”

“She keeps telling me she's all right, but I know she isn't,” Dunworthy said. “I've seen drop trauma before.”

“You've experienced it before.”

“Yes. That's how I know things aren't right with her. She's not falling to pieces, but she suffers. Not every minute of every day, but she suffers. She's struggling, and likely will be for some time.”

“I understand she's lost her tutor,” Neruda said.

“Yes. Latimer isn't expected to recover. It will be a nightmare to sort out the proper forms, but she'll need a new tutor, and a new committee.”

“And will you be a part of that?”

“Oh, yes. I'll gladly be her tutor, if she wishes it. If not, the least I can do is shepherd the paperwork through the process for her.”

Dr. Neruda gave him a small, satisfied smile, before saying, “And Colin?”

“He's been sleeping here at night,” Dunworthy said, gesturing to the sofa Neruda was perched on. “He and Kivrin rarely leave my side.”

“Your idea, or theirs?”

Before Dunworthy could answer, there was a tap at the door, followed by Kivrin's head. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “We'll come back later.”

“Not at all,” Dr. Neruda said. “We've done enough for one day.”

She left as Colin and Kivrin came in, looking both triumphant and guilty.

Dunworthy suppressed a chuckle and gave them a skeptical glare. “Tell me what's happened. It's obvious the two of you have been up to something. You didn't try to leave, did you?”

“No,” Kivrin said, smiling. “All we've done is make a few calls. Finch says the bell ringers were pleased with their performance, and he has a raft of questions to ask you. I told him he could speak to you tomorrow at the earliest, and perhaps not until the day after.”

“You have a telephone? I don't have one.”

“ _Colin's_ room has a phone,” Kivrin said, “although no one we spoke to knew that, except Finch. Apparently, he suggested it to one of the doctors, as a way to limit unwanted interruptions.”

“I'll have to call him tomorrow,” Dunworthy said, sounding resigned. “We need to know what's going on in the University, and paperwork tends to accumulate at an alarming rate.”

“Let Finch handle it,” Colin suggested. “It's more or less what he's done since you fell ill. We've also spoken to Badri.”

“How is he?” Dunworthy asked. He dimly recalled seeing Badri taken away on a trolley. How bad a relapse was he having?

“He was exhausted, but his fever hasn't come back,” Kivrin said. “We told him what happened with Tangleton. Tangleton had already visited him to 'coordinate an official response to the present crisis'.”

“It never works,” Dunworthy said wearily. “Someone always talks.”

Kivrin smiled and said, “Someone already has. This afternoon, Mrs. Gaddson overheard a nurse speaking to someone on the phone about the historians who have the plague and how a representative from the University is trying to hush things up.”

“We do _not_ have the plague,” Dunworthy said. “Wait... a nurse? Would this be one of William's nurses? What have you done?” he added, when he saw Kivrin and Colin grinning at each other.

Colin said, “We thought that siccing Mrs. Gaddson on Tangleton might keep them both out of our hair for a while.”

 _Oh dear_ , Dunworthy thought. Neither Colin nor Kivrin were good at taking no for an answer. He should have realized that putting the two of them together could lead anywhere. Still, if it kept Tangleton busy...

“There's something else,” Kivrin said.

“I'm almost afraid to ask.”

“After talking to Finch and consulting with a friend of mine from Merton, we had William arrange for the delivery of a handheld. I've copied what was on my corder to the handheld, and uplinked it to Brasenose and Balliol, as raw data for my thesis. With Gilchrist dead and Latimer the way he is... well, you're the only one on my committee who's still capable. I wasn't sure which college to send it to, so I chose both.”

“So your observations are now a matter of record,” Dunworthy said. “Tangleton will be apoplectic.”

 

He was.

Tangleton stormed into Dunworthy's room the following afternoon, took in the presence of Kivrin and Colin, and immediately turned to Colin. “Leave.”

“I beg your pardon,” Dunworthy said.

“I need to speak to you—and you,” he said, glancing at Kivrin, “and that wretched nurse will be here at any moment to ensure you only have two visitors. The boy is not needed.”

Kivrin and Dunworthy bristled, but Colin said, “It's all right; I'm going.”

Dunworthy's eyes followed Colin out of the room before glaring angrily at Tangleton. “What exactly is it that you need?”

“Have you seen today's news? Everything is falling apart. Some hideous woman has accused the University of putting everyone's lives at risk. It's bad enough that she's been camped in my waiting room all day, waiting to pounce, but she went to the London dailies and half of them have very unflattering articles about Oxford on their front pages today. They're saying we've exposed everyone to the plague. You _must_ cooperate with the University's wishes in this matter. We _must_ get this situation under control.”

Kivrin said, “And you want us to say... what, exactly? That we weren't in 1348?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Tangleton said. “Somehow, the dailies have heard that you recorded a journal on your practicum and that the University has a copy of it.”

Kivrin said, “It should. As I recall, only yesterday, you were saying that the University needed to know what happened in 1348, so I uploaded a copy to Balliol and Brasenose.”

“But it doesn't say the right things!”

“It describes what I witnessed.”

“And that's the problem,” Tangleton said. “You see, if you were never there, you couldn't possibly have come back with the plague, and the dailies would have nothing to write about.”

“Placing us in quarantine was a declaration on the University's part that we did, in fact, go to some disease-ridden era,” Dunworthy said. “And it undermined something every schoolchild is taught: harmful diseases don't pass through the net. This is a public relations disaster of your own making, and we will not lie in a futile attempt to save you from the consequences of your actions.”

“It's not futile,” Tangleton said. “We could say that the recording was corrupted, or perhaps altered by some unscrupulous persons.”

“There are cross-checks and safeguards,” Dunworthy said. “It would be extremely difficult to alter such a recording without leaving evidence of tampering. And again, neither Miss Engle nor I have any intention of misrepresenting the truth.”

“You don't understand what could happen—” Tangleton began, and continued with a lecture that was by turns panicky and accusing. He paused, mid-rant, as Dr. Neruda came in. “There are only two visitors, Sister, so you can go away.”

“I'm not one of the nurses,” Neruda said. “I'm a doctor, and you're upsetting my patients. _You_ can go away, and there's no point in returning, as your name and likeness will be added to the list of visitors not to be admitted under any circumstances. Security should be here at any moment. You don't want to be here when they arrive; Bertie's on duty today and is rather vigorous when it comes to chucking people out.”

Tangleton emitted an outraged squawk, but departed in haste.

“Thank you,” Kivrin told Dr. Neruda, as Colin came to hover in the doorway.

“My pleasure.”

“I called her,” Colin volunteered. “He upset Kivrin the last time he was here, and I didn't think today would be any better.”

“Well done,” Dunworthy said, and Colin beamed. “We have a list of forbidden visitors?”

“Mrs. Gaddson, and now Tangleton,” Kivrin said. “Should we add anyone else?”

“Not me, I would hope,” said a voice behind her. Everyone turned in surprise.

“Finch,” Dunworthy said, noticing the thick portfolio under Finch's arm with dismay.

Neruda saw it as well, and said, “An hour at most. Mr. Dunworthy's on the mend, but I'm sure Dr. Gates wouldn't want him to overdo just yet.” She turned to Colin and Kivrin, saying, “Come along and tell me all about Tangleton's latest outrage.”

They left Finch and Dunworthy alone, to deal with a labyrinth of paperwork that wasn't as bad as Dunworthy had feared. For the most part, Finch reviewed the decisions he'd made and the actions he'd undertaken in Dunworthy's absence. Dunworthy was surprised and relieved to discover that the indecisive, minutia-obsessed Finch he remembered had been transformed into someone capable of making sensible decisions under pressure.

“Tangleton was here,” Dunworthy said, when they'd finished with the paperwork. “He seems desperate to deny that Kivrin went to 1348. Have the dailies been that bad?”

Finch paused to consider. “They haven't been good. I'd say they're frustrated that the epidemic didn't become a pandemic, so they're eager for some sort of scandal. They've been asking for a transcript of Miss Engle's recording. I told them I'd need the Head's approval to release that, as her thesis won't become a matter of public record until she finishes it.”

“Well, we're safe there,” Dunworthy said. “I'm beginning to think Basingame disappeared into the Amazon, never to return.”

“Didn't I tell you?” Finch said. “Basingame's secretary called me to say he's on his way back to Oxford.”

 

Dunworthy spent the next day restlessly awaiting the arrival of Basingame. At two, he called Finch.

“I don't know where he is, sir. His secretary told me he came in for an hour this morning, then left for a meeting. I understand your quarantine's being lifted tomorrow.”

“Yes,” said Dunworthy, “and Colin and Kivrin will be discharged, although I'll likely be here at least one more day beyond that. By then, the quarantine around Oxford should have lifted, as well. Can you see to it that Colin gets back to London?”

“Of course, sir. And I'll call you straight away if I learn anything more about Basingame. Mrs. Gaddson has been asking after you.”

“I don't suppose you could tell her I've expired, could you?”

“That would present some difficulty if she's still in Oxford when you leave hospital, sir. Unless you were planning on remaining in isolation until she's gone?”

“What a splendid idea,” Dunworthy said.

 

Basingame arrived that evening, just as Colin was saying for the twentieth time than he didn't want to leave hospital until Dunworthy was released.

“Basingame!” Dunworthy exclaimed in satisfaction. “Where have you been?”

“It's rather a long story.”

“There seems to be local surplus of those, just now,” Dunworthy said. “This is Colin Templer, Dr. Ahrens' great-nephew, and Miss Engle, one of our historians.”

“Yes, of course,” Basingame said, looking uneasy. “Miss Engle... I regret what happened.”

“I don't. Please excuse us,” she said, and took Colin away with her.

Basingame stared after her. “Is she angry?”

 _I am_ , Dunworthy thought. “Drop trauma,” he said. “Only to be expected, considering what happened to her.” Although she hadn't been short with Badri, when he'd come round to apologize in person for sending her to the wrong year. She'd thanked him for endangering his health to retrieve her.

“Is she being treated?”

“Of course. We all are. What happened to you? I spent days trying to reach you.”

Basingame sighed heavily. “I wanted to get away. Away from Gilchrist and squabbling academics and University administrators. Away from my wife, who's been after me to retire. I wanted to get away from it all, so I did. No communication with the outside world whatsoever. And then I came back and discovered that people had died and one of my historians was in 1348. It never occurred to me that Gilchrist would be foolish enough to take advantage of my absence in that way. I understand that Latimer is unreachable.”

“I'm told that he's comatose now,” Dunworthy said. “No hope of recovery.”

“How terrible. I seem to have blundered quite spectacularly.”

“So you did sign the waiver for Montoya. I wasn't sure. She forged your signature on another document, one that let her go back to her dig, even though it was outside the quarantine perimeter.”

“Did she? Oh, dear. Well, as a visiting professor, it's likely not worth the trouble it would take to initiate any sort of disciplinary action. We'll send her back to America, and she can be their problem. And speaking of problems... I'm chucking it in, Dunworthy. I'm retiring. I want you to replace me as Head of History. I've spoken to several other members of the History faculty, and they agree. Gilchrist is dead, Latimer won't ever come back, and everyone else is trying to get as far away from this disaster as possible.”

“So they're going to leave me with it?” Dunworthy said. “How generous of them.”

“You're already in it, and in any case, you're the hero of this mess. It's common knowledge that you opposed the drop in the first place, and that you did everything possible to retrieve Engle.”

“I wonder if the media will see things that way.”

“Oh, don't worry about the media,” Basingame said. “The dailies have found someone else to terrorize. Apparently, Princess Victoria is expecting. Well, that's the rumor, anyway, although Buckingham Palace is stoutly denying it. The media's having a field day, speculating about whether she's going to have a boy or a girl or both, and what she should name it, and why she's so adamantly claiming she's not pregnant.”

“Perhaps she isn't,” Dunworthy said, and found himself wondering where the rumor had originated.

“Now that I'm back, the University has decided to blame me for what happened, which is only fair, and I'm retiring in any case. They're going to cast you as the hero, so naturally, you'll replace me as Head.”

“Perhaps I don't want to,” Dunworthy said.

“No one in their right mind _wants_ to be Head,” Basingame said. “Well, perhaps people like Gilchrist do, but that's all the more reason to give the job to someone who doesn't want it. Being Head will make it easier for you to smooth the way for Engle. Finding a second committee for a graduate student can be problematic. You know how students get blamed for things, even when they're not at fault. It's always easier to make a scapegoat of the person who's not in the room. If you go along with the rest of the faculty and agree to serve as Head, they'll owe you a favor.”

“I'll do it,” Dunworthy said reluctantly, and instantly wondered how much he'd regret it.

 

Two days later, Dunworthy left the hospital with a new position and a strict list of instructions to follow.

“Get plenty of rest,” Dr. Gates said. “No more than four hours of work per day for at least two weeks, and I want to see you every other day until then. We've already lost too many people to this virus. I know you've just been named Head for your department, but don't try to fix everything at once. They've been muddling along without a Head for weeks now. A few more days won't make a difference.”

Kivrin came, and accompanied him back to Balliol in a taxi. “This wasn't necessary,” he said, “but I'm grateful, nonetheless. Tell me, have you heard the rumors about Princess Victoria?”

“Of course,” she said, then laughed at Dunworthy's questioning glance. “Oh, no! That wasn't me. It was Finch's doing, and it worked a treat. I haven't had any reporters bothering me.”

“Which is more than can be said for the princess,” Dunworthy said dryly, as he unlocked the door to his rooms and discovered they were occupied.

“Colin? I distinctly remember asking Finch to see you off,” Dunworthy said, as Kivrin looked on in amusement.

“He did,” Colin said. “And made sure I got on the train. But I got off at the next station and came back. You need me.”

Dunworthy scowled. “What I need is for you to do as you've been told. If nothing else, the novelty value of such a course of action should appeal to you.”

“You're still very weak. I could run errands for you, if you like.”

“And what about your schooling?” Dunworthy asked.

“Couldn't I do that here in Oxford?”

“Where you can more easily skive off to come here and try to jump into the net again?”

“I promised I wouldn't do that,” Colin said, sounding offended. “Let me stay another day or two. Give me a chance to show you how helpful I can be.”

Dunworthy removed his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Call your mother. If she's agreeable, you may stay the night, but you _will_ be going home tomorrow.”

 

The following morning, Dunworthy took Colin to the Tube station immediately after breakfast.

“As much as I have enjoyed your company, it's past time you returned to London.” Dunworthy eyed Colin steadily, and said, “I will be seriously displeased if I have to escort you to the station a second time.”

“I want to come back to Oxford for the summer,” Colin blurted out. “Since I'm going to the Crusades, I may as well start getting ready.”

“I will discuss it with your mother when I ring her later today to ensure that you have, in fact, arrived.”

“You will? I can come to stay?”

“Yes, for my part,” Dunworthy said, “but you will not be undertaking any more time travel for several years yet, so put that thought right out of your head.”

“I was good at it,” Colin protested, but subsided when Dunworthy frowned at him. “Oh, very well. You don't have to be so cross. Mr. Dunworthy?”

“Yes?”

“What would have happened if we hadn't heard the bell? Kivrin might have gone off to Scotland on her own and we would have missed her. We wouldn't even have known to go to Ashencote.”

 _Kivrin wasn't going anywhere_ , Dunworthy thought, and then realized he was doing her an injustice. She'd been incredibly brave in the face of a hopeless situation. She was tough and capable, even if she didn't look much older than Colin. Although they'd come across her in an attitude of despair, surely she wouldn't have simply sat there and frozen to death. Somehow, she would have found the strength to bind her ribs, gather some food, and mount the donkey, no matter how painful it was. “The horse we were riding—” he said.

“Gringelot,” Colin supplied.

“Yes, Gringelot. Given the chance, he would have made his way to Ashencote, bell or no bell, because that was his home. Kivrin wouldn't have gone off without leaving some sort of message behind.”

“But then what?” Colin asked.

“I don't know. We would have had to return to the drop that day, because I was so ill, but I would have tried again as soon as I recovered. Or sent someone else.”

“Even if it took years to find her?”

“Even if it took years,” Dunworthy said. “I would never abandon one of my historians.”

“I'm going to be an historian some day,” Colin said confidently, as the train pulled in. “I'm going to be yours.”

 _You already are_ , Dunworthy thought.

 

After seeing Colin off, Dunworthy slowly made his way back to Balliol. It was strangely unsettling to find Oxford looking so ordinary, when so much had happened in a few short weeks. _How quickly we've returned to normal_. _And how slowly_ , he thought, feeling a stitch in his chest. _I should have taken a taxi_.

He was relieved to reach the warmth of Balliol and gladly accepted a steaming mug of tea from a solicitous Finch. With some reluctance, he immersed himself in the mountain of paperwork Basingame had left behind, and was surprised when Finch came in a few hours later to say that it was nearly lunch-time. “An uneventful morning, Finch? I seem to be making progress here, at last.”

“Mrs. Gaddson was here again, to complain about Oxford's unhealthy atmosphere and our utter disregard for her son's health.”

“I thought I recognized her dulcet tones. The next time she turns up, tell her that in the wake of Miss Engle's practicum, I'm considering offering a specialty in the research of historical epidemics. With any luck, she'll be affronted enough to go home. What else?”

“About Mr. Templer,” Finch said tentatively.

Dunworthy sighed. “Has he returned again? This time, I'll personally take him all the way back to London.”

“It's not that,” Finch said. “His travel clearance came through.”

“His _what_?”

“His travel clearance. He was evaluated for drop trauma, and the counselor said he was all right.”

“I know that, but how... oh, dear,” Dunworthy said. “The University couldn't have simply taken a letter from Dr. Neruda, could they? She had to use their special form.”

“The one meant for historians,” Finch agreed. “Since Mr. Templer needed no further treatment, her only option was to sign the 'cleared for time travel' line.”

“And then some dunderhead at the University counter-signed the form without checking Colin's age.” Dunworthy put his head in his hands. “We will not inform Colin of this. Ever.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What else?” Dunworthy said. “I fear I shall soon find myself back in hospital, if the University has many more surprises in store for me.”

“One final thing, sir. Research Services requests your attendance at a consultation next Thursday with a potential donor. Apparently, Basingame has had some preliminary meetings with the donor and they're about to begin contract negotiations.”

“We're not giving tours of the Black Death for money,” Dunworthy said.

“It's not that,” Finch said. “I didn't catch it all, with Mrs. Gaddson whingeing in my ear, but there was something about a cathedral?”


End file.
